


Stiles 2.0

by RebaK1tten



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, Derek's the alpha, Dirty Talk, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Everyone Is Alive, Future Fic, Gen, Hale Family Feels, M/M, Masturbation, Original Character(s), Possessive Behavior, Post-Nogitsune Stiles, Post-Season/Series 03B, Prompt Fill, Stiles' dad's name is Andrew, Supernatural Crossover, Wolf Stiles, canon level of violence, slow build but eventual Peter/Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-09 09:10:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1977174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebaK1tten/pseuds/RebaK1tten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From comment fic prompts on LJ - "Stiles + Scott, “I thought they’d killed you. I lost my temper.”</p><p>Peter looks at Stiles, who stands quietly next to Scott, blood splattered on his arms and face. There’s splashes on his shirt as well, no big loss there, Peter thinks.</p><p>I do not give permission for this or any other of my works to be posted to any other websites, including but not limited to GoodReads or Wattpad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stiles 2.0

“Okay, so what’s the emergency that made you miscreants call me during my dinner?” Peter asks and then stops. “Oh. I see.” He squats next to the body under a tree at the edge of the preserve. “He’s a werewolf.”

“Yeah,” Scott nods quickly, and crosses his arms against his chest. “He’s an omega. He was an omega; he’s been in town a couple of days.”

Peter looks at Stiles, who stands quietly next to Scott, blood splattered on his arms and face. There’s splashes on his shirt as well, no big loss there, Peter thinks.

“He’s been in town since Tuesday and he hasn’t made any effort to talk to Scott at all. We ran into him outside the mall and he must have been stalking Scott.” Stiles wipes a hand across his cheek smearing blood. “When we approached him, he ran. He didn’t want to _talk_ to Scott.”

“Interesting.” Peter hands a clean handkerchief to Stiles. “You have a bit of blood on your cheek, just here,” he says, touching his own cheek as he bends over to look at the body again, actually poking it with a stick. “He’s not going to heal from this, that’s pretty certain. Good head shot, Stiles.”

“Thank you,” Stiles answers, rubbing the cloth on his face and arms. The blood’s already drying and it isn’t very effective. “Tonight, we realized we were being followed and led him here.”

Scott shakes his head and looks at Stiles. “I wanted to talk with him, Stiles. Just talk.”

“Don’t be so naïve, Scott, he wasn’t here to talk! He came at you growling, he was going to kill you,” Stiles yells, waving his hands and Peter watches the vein pulse in his throat. “I lost my temper, but I’m not losing any more friends.”

“He’s probably right, Scott, you’re lucky he was here.” Peter walks over to Stiles and notes that he doesn’t back away from him. He takes Stiles’ chin and looks at him carefully. “Just checking that it’s really you,” he says, studying the boy.

“Completely. Do you need me to give you a quick hit in the head to prove it?” he asks, showing Peter his blood covered bat.

Peter raises an eyebrow and says, “Actually, I thought you may have gotten a different weapon after the twins.”

“Well, obviously this works,” Stiles answers. “Made this from mountain ash. I keep it in a box filled with wolfsbane to give it that something extra.”

“It was effective. I don’t suppose you have a knife or anything on you, do you? I think it may be a good idea to cut off his head; just as a precaution, we don’t want him deciding to come back to life, now do we?” Peter grins at them and nudges the body with his foot.

“Back in the jeep,” Stiles answers. “I have a knife and an axe. Also a shovel, we probably need that.”

“Prepared, just like a good boy scout. I like this Stiles 2.0.” Peter licks his thumb and wipes a smear of blood off Stiles’ cheek, while Stiles holds still and lets him. “Scott, why don’t you go to the jeep and pick those up. Stiles and I will take the body to, dare I say, the usual spot. Meet us there?”

“Yeah, okay, be right there,” Scott says and runs off. He stops few yards off when he’s out of view of the pair but can still hear them.

“So perhaps you’ll show me what other weapons you have?” Peter asks.

“Sure,” Stiles answers, and Scott can hear them going deeper into the preserve. “I took one of Allison’s arrows and I think I’ve been able to adapt it into a pretty effective spear.”

Scott heads for the jeep thinking about Stiles 2.0. Stiles 2.0 scares him sometimes.


	2. Snare Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles snorts quietly and leans forward, studying Peter. “I’m the monster? You’re the werewolf sneaking into my room at what? Two in the morning? Delicate human like me can’t be too careful.”

 

Peter stands in the shadows outside Stiles’ bedroom and listens to the sound of his heart and his breathing. Definitely asleep.

He shouldn’t be, the wolf thinks. Or at least he shouldn’t be sleeping so easily and neither should his father, the sheriff. Now that they know the things that go bump in the night are real, you think they’d be more careful about protecting the perimeter of the house.

Peter easily jumps onto one of the lower branches of the tree growing outside Stiles’ window. From there, it’s a quick hop to the rooftop outside his bedroom window. He’s almost silent, having worn an old pair of sneakers (or what do kids call them now - kicks?) from the back of his closet. Ugly, but quiet. He reconfirms Stiles is still asleep and checks the window. The screen isn’t even locked in the window, and it’s easy to pull out. And the window is left open a few inches, probably for air on a warm summer night. But burglars aren’t what they should worry about.

Peter slides the window open and slips one leg over the window sill and then the other, checking to be sure Stiles is still asleep. He’ll wake him so they can talk, but catching him unawares might be the best way to get information from him and …

“Jesus fuck!” he yells as he’s pulled off his feet and before he can grab anything he’s upside down, hanging from the ceiling by an ankle.

Stiles sits on the edge of his bed and yawns broadly, scratching an arm pit. “Hey, Peter, fancy meeting you here. Don’t remember inviting you.” He stands and walks closer to Peter, being careful to stay out of reach.

“Let me down, you little monster,” Peter demands through gritted teeth. The rope or whatever it is around his ankle is tight and burns. He’s able to keep a hand on the floor so he’s no longer swinging free, but it’s still damned uncomfortable. He won’t even think about how humiliating this is.

Stiles snorts quietly and leans forward, studying Peter. “I’m the monster? You’re the werewolf sneaking into my room at what? Two in the morning? Delicate human like me can’t be too careful.”

“This is the exact kind of thing that made me come here. Derek’s worried about your new sociopathic tendencies,” Peter hisses. He reaches out his free arm to try to snag Stiles’ leg, but the boy easily moves away. “Now let me down.”

“Try to see if you can cut the rope with your big ol’ claws,” Stiles suggests and leans back to watch.

Peter pulls himself up and grabs the rope above his ankle, then curses and immediately drops back down, shaking his hand. “What the hell’s in it? Let me down!”

Stiles smiles smugly and moves to a mechanism on the wall, where he moves a couple of levers and Peter finds himself dumped on the floor. Stiles snickers as Peter moves, leaning against the wall and staring at his ankle. “Get it off. And explain yourself, boy.”

“Boy? You’re pretty bossy for a guy who was just caught in my snare trap,” Stiles answers with a chuckle. “Here, let me take it off your ankle, before you hurt yourself.” He kneels on the floor and tugs on the rope and slips it off Peter’s ankle, rubbing Peter’s ankle through his sock before Peter pulls his feet back towards him and away from Stiles.

“How did you make that and what’s in the rope?” Peter asks flexing his ankle while looking at his palms. They look scalded, but are healing quickly.

“Let’s see, it’s a pretty normal trap, I tested where a person of average height would hit when they came in the window. The rope was soaked in wolfsbane and is wrapped around a steel wire for strength.” Stiles pushes the sisal fibers away and shows Peter the shiny core. “Then I tested where a person would grab the rope above their ankle and that’s where I embedded splinters of mountain ash. Nice abs, by the way.”

He looks quite proud of himself and Peter grudgingly thinks he should be. “And who were you expecting to come in?”

“Not sure, just testing it out,” Stiles says shrugging. He gets up and pulls the trap back up, but doesn’t reset it. “I need to do some more research to modify it for other things that might need to be trapped. But I’d say test number one was a huge success.” He sits down on the floor, next to Peter, back against the wall. “So why are you in my room at two am?”

Peter looks around the teen’s bedroom, noting pictures on the wall, including his own. Interesting. He turns to look at Stiles, who is watching him studying his room. “I told Derek about your little adventure with Scott. The one with the baseball bat a few nights ago? I’m sure you remember.” He pats Stiles’ thigh and quickly removes his hand. “Derek seemed to think it was an odd reaction and mentioned your growing psychopathy. So here I am to check on you.”

The boy scoffs, “Derek’s concerned, so he delegates to someone else. Figures.”

“Would you prefer that he came in person?” Peter asks, and finds that, dammit, he actually cares about the answer.

“No, not really. But why you?” Stiles asks, yawning, but he appears genuinely curious.

Peter shrugs. “I guess Derek thought sending the resident sociopath was a good idea. Takes one to know one and all that.”

“Rather short sighted, I’d think. If you were truly a sociopath – and I don’t think you are, although you pretend to be – I’m not sure that you’d tell him if I was. How would that benefit you?”

“True,” Peter answers, nodding. “So do you want to tell me why you have this sudden interest in weapons and traps and bashing people’s heads in?”

Stiles sits quietly for at least a minute, but his heart beat doesn’t change although he smells more anxious than he did when Peter first came in.

“I don’t want to be weak anymore. I’m tired of the one needing help and being rescued,” Stiles says quietly, head down and Peter can smell the misery on him.

“Stiles,” Peter says, taking Stiles’ chin in his hand and forcing the boy to look at him. “Listen to me. We all need help some time. And your pack doesn’t rescue you because you’re weak or because you’re a human. They rescue you because you’re you and you’re valuable as you are.” He lets him go and rests his head back against the wall, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Stiles. “You’re the smartest person in your pack, especially because you don’t see things in just black or white. You see things aren’t as simple as right or wrong; you know the world has many shades of gray.”

“I feel like I need to do something to make up for the things that I did before. I know it wasn’t me and I was possessed and I get all that, but…” he shakes his head and falls silent.

“You want to contribute to your pack, that’s understandable. As long as you’re doing it because you want to and not because you think it’s required of you.” Peter replies. All pack members contribute and in his opinion, Stiles does just fine as the planner and the much needed voice of reason for his pack. “So do you have other weapons in the works?”

“A few,” he says, grinning. “Not sure how to test them all out. Scott said he’d look at them, but after the bat, I’m not sure he’s all that anxious.”

Peter sighs loudly. “Is death required in these tests? Because I’ve done that already and didn’t enjoy it.”

Stiles smiles and nudges Peter’s shoulder. “I think we can test things without actually causing death to the test subjects. You willing to try? Trust me?”

It’s Peter’s turn to scoff and he does it loudly. “No. Not as far as you could throw me. But if I ‘test these out’ as you say, I’ll get to know what your wicked little mind is working on.” He stands and moves towards the window, brushing his hands off on his pants as he moves towards the window.

Stiles watches him climb out and he pulls the screen back on while Peter easily hops down to the ground below. “Lock your window this time, Stiles.” Peter calls up quietly.

“I like the fresh air,” Stiles whispers, loud enough for the wolf to hear. “By the way, stay away from the back fence when you leave.”

“Thank you for letting me know. That’s either concern or empathy or something. I’ll let Derek know, he’ll be pleased that you’re not a total sociopath.” Peter moves into the shadow hearing Stiles snort as he goes back to bed, listening to the rustle of covers and his breathing starting to even out. He’ll check the fence tomorrow, in the daylight.

Just as he’s ready to go, sure Stiles is falling back asleep, he hears the boy sit up in his bed and says, “It’s not _my_ pack, Peter. It’s _our_ pack. Even if you and Derek don’t want Scott as your alpha, you’re still in the Beacon Hills pack. Like it or not.”

Peter doesn’t answer, and Stiles wouldn’t hear him anyway. They can argue about this tomorrow, because he’s sure he’ll see Stiles again tomorrow.


	3. Axe Murderer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What the heck, why are you chopping up Scott?” Erica asks, running up to the group. Boyd follows her, just staring at the body on the ground.

 

“Holy shit, what was that? What is that?” Stiles cries, looking at the body on the ground. And the head on the ground a few feet from it.

Derek and Peter lope out of the woods from behind him and flank him, looking at the body Stiles is pointing at with a bloody axe. “Stiles, what did you do? You…you killed Scott!” Derek yells, kneeling next to the body.

“That’s not Scott,” Stiles says. “It’s not, he’s…” he waves vaguely over his shoulder in the opposite direction of where they came from.

“Scott, we need you back here right now,” Peter says calmly, taking the axe from Stiles’ shaking hands and leaning it against a nearby tree.

He’s there almost immediately, standing next to Stiles looking at the mess on the ground. “What? Stiles, what happened?”

“Breathe,” Peter says quietly, rubbing circles on Stiles’ back. “And explain what happened, please.”

Derek raises an eyebrow as he looks between the two of them; Peter is rarely so patient and concerned with pack members, unless he wants something. “I’m assuming you knew it wasn’t Scott,” he states.

“Of course I knew it wasn’t Scott!” Stiles hisses and takes a breath, visibly centering himself. “My dad mentioned that three people went missing in the last month and asked me and Scott if we thought it was something from the Nematon. We told him we didn’t think it was, but we’d check, so we were out just looking around to see if we could sniff anything out.

“I was doing the sniffing, obviously,” Scott continues. “There wasn’t anything that seemed off, and Stiles was going back towards his car and I was just checking a noise I heard.”

Stiles nods and resumes the story. “As soon as he went off over there, this guy came out of the woods from over there,” he says pointing. “So I knew he wasn’t Scott cause Scott had gone off in the other direction and plus he wasn’t acting like Scott. It was just wrong. He was wrong.”

“So naturally you chopped his head off?” Derek asks, with a shrug. “No other option?”

“You weren’t here – he had to defend himself,” Scott says, putting an arm around Stiles, ignoring the blood on his shirt.

“Neither were you,” Derek points out.  “You have a lot of trust.”

“And you have none. Go on, Stiles,” Peter says, turning over the body, seeing that it’s wearing the same clothes Scott is.

“He came out and said we should go and then he started hugging me and sniffing at me and…I know we have the epic bromance of the century, but it’s strictly bromance. I knew this guy wasn’t Scott because he was getting all grabby and trying to do the hokey-pokey, with the emphasis on pokey.”

Peter grins and says, “Well, that is what it’s all about. But seriously, Stiles, feeling you up was enough for you to chop his head off? That might be excessive personal space issues.”

“He was licking my neck and Scott does _not_ do that. I shoved him back and he looked pissed and moved towards me and there were teeth.  And I’m not doing any of that shit again. Sorry if he was your buddy, but that’s it,” Stiles says and Scott squeezes his shoulder again.

“I do think you made the right decision,” Peter says standing and moving towards the long handled axe leaning against a tree. He nods at the body and they watch the hand’s fingers open and close. Stiles grabs the axe from him and chops off its arm and then the other, just to be safe.

“What the heck, why are you chopping up Scott?” Erica asks, running up to the group. Boyd follows her, just staring at the body on the ground. “Or obviously not Scott, cause, here he is.”

“Because it’s not Scott. I think it’s some kind of a ghoul, a shape-shifter. Seems like it probably wanted to eat Stiles,” Derek answers, kicking the arm away from the body.

“So what are we going to do with it?” Boyd asks. “We can’t leave it here.”

Isaac approaches the group and quickly takes in the scene. “Whoa, who’d Stiles kill now?”

“That’s not-Scott, I think he wanted to eat me and not in the good way,” Stiles answers. “We need to bury him or something.”

One of the legs twitches and everyone jumps back. Peter gestures to it and says, “Stiles? Go again?”

It takes a couple of chops to get through the thigh bones but in a minute the body’s in six pieces. “I hate to say that we have a usual place for this sort of thing, but let’s head over,” Derek says with a sigh. “Keep in the woods and if you need to, run. Better to explain why we ran than explain body parts.” He pulls off his t-shirt and wraps the head in it, tucking it under his arm. “Grab something and let’s go.”

Peter picks up the trunk, lifting it by the belt. “Stiles, take your axe, you’re with me. Remember, if there are any problems, you run.”

The others grab various limbs, with a minimal amount of complaining. “Still better than homework,” Isaac comments, following Derek into the shadows.

“It’s good you chopped him up, makes him easier to get rid of,” Peter says as they walk. “Probably best to burn the parts and then bury them in different places. Just in case he tries to regenerate.”

“Yeah, we sure learned that lesson with you,” Stiles snorts, but there’s no heat behind it.

Peter glances over his shoulder at the boy, who looks and smells much calmer now that there’s a plan and the pack is together. “Apparently at some point you decided that I’m no longer anything for you to worry about. I don’t know that I like that.”

Stiles shrugs and falls into step next to Peter. “Well, you can no longer turn me. And I know you’re not going to kill me because the others would kill you before my body’s cold. That and you like me. You make it sound like you only want to have sex with me, but you haven’t done anything more than talk about it. Not that I consider that a threat.”

There’s growls from a couple of different directions, which makes Stiles grin at Peter. “I have enthusiastic baby-sitters, have you noticed?”

“Do you want them? I thought you wanted to protect yourself.”

“I do want to be able to protect myself,” Stiles answers. “But you know I’m realizing the world is filled with monsters and I’ll probably die young. Hey, I just took an axe and cut off the head of something that looked like my best friend. And now we’re gonna burn a body. My life isn’t exactly regular, is it?”

“Don’t think of it as burning a body, think of it as a bonfire with different fuel. Doesn’t that sound more romantic?” Peter reaches over and takes Stiles’ free hand as they walk.

Stiles looks over at their clasped hands and Peter’s smirk. “There’s something seriously wrong with you. With me, too, obviously,” Stiles says, stepping a little closer to Peter.

“I don’t think this is your business,” Peter says suddenly, answering one of the wolves that Stiles can’t hear. “Stiles is quite capable of making his own decisions.”

“Actually, I think that’s a horrible and dangerous assumption.”

Peter shrugs and adjusts his grip on the body, squeezing Stiles’ hand. “That’s fine. We’re horrible and dangerous people.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I don't know where this is going, I just like writing Stiles killing things. I think there will be sex. Or maybe they'll kill each other.


	4. Sweet Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter circles him, noting the rumpled bedding, and Stiles in just his boxers. His hair’s sweaty and there are dark circles under his eyes. “I was passing by and heard you tossing and turning. And smelled how anxious you are. You’re obviously exhausted, why aren’t you sleeping?”

Peter stands underneath Stiles’ bedroom window deciding what to do. He can hear Stiles in his room, heart slightly elevated and obviously not sleeping.

He’s fairly certain there’s no booby-traps in Stiles’ room, not since the unfortunate incident with the bowling ball catapult. He’s not one hundred percent certain about the tree or the roof though.

“Hey, what are you doing? Do you want my dad to wake up and see you?” Stiles whispers loudly from his bedroom window. “Creepy stalker, get up here!”

“Why aren’t you sleeping? It’s past midnight,” Peter says, entering the bedroom window a minute later.

“Why are you here?  My dad’s home, I doubt he’d appreciate you visiting,” Stiles answers, avoiding the question.

Peter circles him, noting the rumpled bedding, and Stiles in just his boxers. His hair’s sweaty and there are dark circles under his eyes. “I was passing by and heard you tossing and turning. And smelled how anxious you are. You’re obviously exhausted, why aren’t you sleeping?”

Stiles runs a hand through his hair. “Things on my mind, you wouldn’t understand,” Stiles says sullenly, reminding Peter just how young he is.

“Try me.  In case you don’t remember, I’ve had a few interesting life experiences. I doubt you’ll shock me,” Peter says, sitting on the bed and kicking off his shoes.

“Don’t go getting all comfortable here, you’re not staying,” Stiles hisses at him as he drops onto the bed next to Peter.

“Someone needs to be comfortable. You look like shit.  If you’re not careful, you’re going to end up with another spa week at Eichen House.”

Stiles looks up quickly and Peter can see the panic there even before he smells the anxiety, bitter and vinegary.

He feels guilty for a moment, something he’s not very familiar with. “Silly boy, that won’t happen, I won’t let it,” Peter says quietly, leaning forward and tapping Stiles’ knee.

“I don’t know that it’s up to you. I guess one good thing is insurance doesn’t cover it and we can’t afford it,” Stiles says, with a wan smile.  “So I guess I don’t need to worry too much about that.” He’s quiet for a minute and Peter turns to him so their knees are touching. Stiles takes Peter’s hand and sighs. “I have nightmares about being there. Having to go back and they won’t let me out again. And sometimes I dream about being possessed again. I’ll wake up and not be sure I’m really awake, the same way it was before, when it happened before…”

“Stiles, you are fine and strong and you won. Yes, others captured it, but you kicked it out of your head, _you_ did that.  You, because you’re strong and powerful. And you kept some of its fire to add to your own,” Peter says and Stiles looks at him, concern in his eyes again. Peter smiles at him, brushing his fingers down the boy’s cheek. “Oh, you know you have fire - you know you’ve always been a wolf. Who’s the one who wanted to go out into the woods to look for a body? That’s who you are, Stiles.”

Stiles leans into Peter’s palm and asks, “And that’s okay with you? Because I’m _not_ a wolf, Peter.”

“You’re more of a wolf than Scott will ever be. Come on, you need to sleep now.” Peter pulls him back into the bed, resting against the wall, and pulling Stiles so his back is against Peter’s chest, his head on Peter’s shoulder. Peter rests his hand on Stiles’ belly and when Stiles lays his head back, Peter leans in to nuzzle his neck. “Relax, Stiles,” he whispers, brushing his lips over Stiles’ ear. “Touch yourself.”

Stiles doesn’t move, but he snorts and whispers, “You’re a total pervert.”  In spite of what he’s said, Peter notes Stiles’ sweet smell and how his dick jumps in his boxers.

“It’ll help you sleep. And you’re totally safe with me, I won’t touch you,” Peter says quietly. “Not lower than here,” he says, brushing his fingers across Stiles’ belly button, feeling his stomach twitch.

“You’re a liar, that’s a fact,” Stiles says, but his hand is slowly stroking himself through his boxers.

“Take off your pants, I want to see you.”

“My father…”

“Is not my type. Take off your pants, come on. You’ll be more comfortable. And there’s a layer of denim between us,” Peter whispers into Stiles’ ear.  “Maybe even underwear, I don’t remember. You can check if you’d like.”

Stiles chuckles, but lifts his hips and slides his boxers off with a sigh. His hand goes to his already hard cock and he pulls it roughly, running his fingers over the leaking head.

“You smell wonderful,” Peter murmurs into his ear, kissing gently down his neck. “Show me how you like to be touched, so I can do it next time.” Stiles squeaks a little as he continues to touch himself, while Peter croons softly in his ear.

“You’re so rough with yourself, is that the way you think a werewolf would be? I could do that if you like that or touch you so gently. I think two or three fingers in your ass so slowly while your cock is in my mouth. And biting those pretty little nipples until they’re puffy and you whimper when I touch them.” He tweaks one roughly and Stiles bites his lip to keep in a little moan.

Peter bites his way down Stiles neck, keeping his eyes on Stiles hand. It’s moving faster and his thighs are tense, toes curling. “When you’re ready and begging, I’ll flip you on your belly and take you from behind and bite your neck and you won’t keep quiet then, my brave little wolf.” He drags his teeth on Stiles’ shoulder, leaving four little red lines and Stiles hips come off the bed as his orgasm hits.

Peter holds him through his tremors and Stiles turns his head and whispers, “Kiss me, please?”

Peter kisses him and then moves from under Stiles arranging him limply on the bed. He moves down and licks his boy’s belly and chest clean and kisses him again.

“Ew, you are king of the perverts,” Stiles says against Peter’s lips, but Peter can feel him smiling.

“You can’t tell me you’ve never tasted yourself,” Peter replies.

“Yeah, but not on someone’s tongue, you sicko.”

Peter chuckles and looks at the wall between Stiles’ room and his father’s. “I think your father has sleep apnea, he should get that checked.”

“I’ve told him that, and he tells me it’s nothing,” Stiles says through a yawn.

Peter shrugs and sits on the edge of the bed, reaching for his shoes. “Maybe you should tell him I heard him snoring and agree with you that he should get checked out.”

“That’ll go over well,” Stiles says and curls up on his side, pulling the covers over himself. “You’re leaving?”

Peter tucks the covers around his neck and brushes his hand gently over Stiles’s head. “You’ll be asleep before I make it to the back wall – which I know not to touch, thank you.”

Stiles is snoring quietly before Peter gets out to the roof outside his window. He jumps into the nearby tree and stops for a few minutes, jerking himself off as aggressively as Stiles did, while thinking about Stiles and what they can have together.  

And how Peter can get more.


	5. Pack Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you think I’m stupid?” Stiles asks, cocking his head. “Do you think I don’t know that he’s dangerous?” 
> 
> **  
> There's a pack meeting and then the meeting afterwards. And then Peter and Stiles at home.

Scott looks over the assembled group and shrugs. “I guess that’s it. Just remember, if you think there’s anything weird or you see anything, tell someone. It’s better to be a little jumpy than to miss something, so….just anything, weird dreams or whatever.”

“Oh, I had a weird dream,” Erica says, raising her hand. She finishes her Coke and sets the bottle on the table before she continues. “There were happy kittens playing and fluffy bunnies and everyone was happy. That’s pretty strange, isn’t it?”

“And the kittens didn’t try to eat you and the bunnies didn’t turn into monsters?  Definitely weird,” Stiles says, shrugging on his jacket.

“Very funny. Okay, get out,” Derek calls to the group as they filter out of the loft, talking about where to get a snack. “Stiles, can you stay for a couple of minutes?”

Stiles turns around slowly, still putting on his jacket and checking his phone. He comes back into the room and leans against the back of the sofa keeping the kitchen table between himself and Scott and Derek. “What’s up?”

Scott looks at his best friend, his brother from another mother. And now he’s studying Scott, his arms crossed over his chest, eyes wary. “We just wanted to talk a bit since you’re here, okay?”

“I have places to be, so you have ten minutes,” Stiles answers. His face remains blank.

Scott and Derek exchange a look and Derek steps back slightly. “Okay, sure. Umm, we just want to let you know that we’re here for you and there’s no judgment and we support you with your choices and…” he turns to Derek with a panicked look on his face. Stiles tries to hold in a snicker.

“Yeah, all of that and we hope you know what you’re doing because Peter’s a dick. He always was a dick and after the fire he became a much bigger and much more dangerous dick. We’re worried you’re in over your head,” Derek finishes.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Stiles asks, cocking his head. “Do you think I don’t know that he’s dangerous?” He rakes his fingers through his hair and looks at the two of them standing across the room from him. “We do actually talk. We’ve talked about how he was before the fire and after. And how long it took him to recover from the fire because his alpha left him stranded and alone. Remember when you healed Cora, Derek? Peter didn’t expect Laura to give up her alphaness for him, but he had thought his pack would be in town and would help him.” Stiles snorts and shakes his head. “He won’t tell you this himself, but when he woke up, he wasn’t sure how much time had passed, he thought maybe a year. That’s why his pain was still so fresh, because to him, it was no time at all. It was like his family had just been murdered. And then he finds out his remaining family ran off and left him, alone and helpless in the city where everyone else was slaughtered.”

Scott puts a hand on Derek’s shoulder, trying to ground him, smelling the waves of misery and guilt coming off him. “Stiles, you know that Derek had to obey his alpha, and he wasn’t in any shape to try to make decisions and…”

“I know that,” Stiles interrupts. “And Peter doesn’t blame him, he knows Derek was just a fucked up kid. After all, he was in love with the woman who killed their family. He blames Laura and honestly as I’m getting more familiar with wolf packs, and with born wolves, I have to agree. She shouldn’t have left an injured packmate.”

“Of course from what I can see, there hasn’t been a lot of really great alphas around here to emulate. Deucalion and his lot weren’t prime examples of alpha behavior. Derek found the most fucked up teens around and seduced them to the dark side. And I’m certainly not going to say that Peter was alpha of the year. Although…did I tell you that he offered me the bite and when I said no, he didn’t bite me?” Stiles looks at Scott for a minute, appraising him while Scott is too stunned to stop him. “And then you forced Derek to bite Gerard, even though Derek was scared for his life and practically begged you not to. Of course you were just a beta then, not the true alpha you are today, not sure what you’d do differently…”

Scott steps forward and his eyes flash briefly before Derek pulls him back, muttering something Stiles can’t hear. “You know I had a reason for that and Derek and I have discussed it and it’s history. And you’re trying to change the subject. Dammit, Stiles, we’re worried about you. You have bruises on your arms and on your…” he pull his shirt collar off his shoulder, and glares at his best friend.

Stiles smirks and rubs his collar bone, showing off a yellowing bruise. “Yeah, well big surprise there, Uncle Peter’s a freak in the sheets. And I’m about the whitest person on the planet and bruise like a peach, which is also not a surprise. But trust me, everything’s consensual.”

“Even consensual, Stiles, werewolves are stronger than humans and we’re worried you could end up hurt,” Derek says quietly.

Stiles checks his watch, not even trying to be subtle. ““Do you know what we did last week? Peter let me drown him. I wanted to know how much weight had to be on him before he couldn’t get up, so he was in the bathtub and I kept putting 50 pound weights on his chest until he couldn’t get up.” He shakes his head and grins, lost in a memory. “Danny had no idea what was going on, I had to get his help to borrow the plates from the gym and get them into the house. Anyway, I was thinking I was going to run out of weights and suddenly he couldn’t get out of the tub.”

“What happened? I mean, you just started pulling them off him?” Scott asks, fascinated in spite of himself.

Stiles nods and wanders over to the window, looking out into the blackness. “I pulled off two. By that time, he wasn’t breathing; there weren’t any more bubbles coming out of his mouth, you know? So I did what we planned.” He shrugs. “I had a sledge hammer ready in the bathroom and smashed it into his shin. The pain kind of woke him up and he threw the remaining plates off and…yeah, he was fine the next day. Pissy, but fine.”

“What did you hope to prove from that,” Derek growls. “It doesn’t seem like that would help with any things that come into Beacon Hills.”

“Funny, Peter said the same thing. But, I must have had a reason, right?” Stiles says, cocking an eyebrow and chuckling. “I’m either a scientist or else I’m just a sadist or something. Or maybe he just agreed to postpone the test for my next idea, which is a flame thrower slash wolfsbane gun. I don’t have all the bugs worked out, but I have a prototype to work with.”

Derek and Scott just stare at him, speechless, remembering how scary this Stiles can be. “Suddenly, I feel kind of bad for Peter,” Scott says.

“Well, if that’s all, I do need to go. Got a date with a madman,” Stiles replies zipping his jacket and turning towards the loft door.

Derek holds up his hand, “No, wait, there is one more thing.” He looks to Scott to continue. Stiles stops, but doesn’t turn around.

Scott looks between them and takes a deep breath. “Yeah, um… so Peter hasn’t been coming to any of the pack meetings and we just wanted to say that he can -- he’s invited. I know he doesn’t feel like he’s pack, but we want to make sure _you_ know that he’s welcome to come to meetings just to help you or keep you company or whatever,” he finishes, running out of steam.

“He knows a lot and he might recognize threats that we don’t. It might help to keep you safe,” Derek adds.

“I’ll tell him,” Stiles says and leaves the loft, pulling the door shut after him.

 

Stiles enters his bedroom with a smile. The light on the table is already on and Peter’s waiting for him on the bed, dressed in a pair of Stiles’ pajama pants.

“About time you got here,” Peter says, putting down Stiles’ chemistry book. “Fun meeting?”

Stiles grins and pulls his shirts off over his head as he approaches the bed. “So much talk,” he mutters, straddling Peter and nuzzling his face into the wolf’s neck. “You’re smart to skip them.” He lets Peter roll him over, and they work together to remove pants and other clothes. It’s lazy and sloppy and almost as much for the scenting as for the orgasms that follow.

“Hmm,” Peter whispers into Stiles hair, “now you smell better. You leave me smelling lovely and you come back smelling like a high school locker room.”

Stiles wraps his leg around Peter’s, nosing into his armpit. “Good, now that I smell better, next round you’ll fuck me?”

“If you don’t fall asleep on me first,” Peter chuckles. “There’s the morning, don’t worry. So how was your little pack party? Anything new and scary?”

“Nothing new in town, and just the usual warnings, stuff like that.” He kisses Peter’s neck and sighs. “Afterwards, Derek and Scott kept me after class to question if you were hurting me. And to tell me that I should tell you to come to pack meetings. If you want to, that is.”

“Do you want that?” Peter asks quietly. “I try to keep away to give you some time alone with your friends. So they don’t think I’m keeping you prisoner.”

“I wouldn’t hate it. They do have a point, you’d recognize something potentially harmful lurking around here that they might not even see. Naturally suspicious evil genius that you are.”

Peter stretches and then wraps Stiles up in his arms. “True. Well if you still want me to go next time, just remind me and I’ll go. At least I can try to keep some of the stench off you.”

“But I like the way you get the stench off me.” Stiles pulls back and asks, “Oh, what do you think of testing a rock-salt gun?”

“Rock salt?”

“Um hm. Well, rock salt loaded in the cartridges. Like buck shot, but with rock salt. Might be good for ghosts or demons or things like that. Want to test it?” Stiles asks, gnawing on Peter’s collar bone in a way that usually gets him what he wants.

Peter tilts his head back and pets Stiles’ back. “Since I’m none of those things, not sure what shooting me would accomplish.”

“Shits and giggles?”

“Let’s see if this makes you giggle,” Peter says, flipping Stiles onto his belly and smacking him on the ass.

They take longer with round two and along with new bruises there’s even an occasional giggle.


	6. Stiles 3.0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why did you go out on your own, why did you take Stiles with just his bat as protection?”

 

What was supposed to be a normal supernatural event, if such a thing exists, turns into a massacre. Well, a massacre on a small scale as in the wendigo they’re hunting attacks only one of the pack. Stiles.

When he reaches the clearing, Peter’s focus is only on Stiles. The beast is still fighting, snarling and flailing while hanging from one of Stiles’ snare traps. Peter glares at it and hands what looks like some type of rifle to Isaac before he falls on the ground next to his boy.

 “Stiles?” he whispers and quickly takes in the blood covering his shirt. “What the fuck happened, Scott? You’re the alpha, how was your only human hurt?”

Scott swallows loudly, moving slightly to look at Peter. “We thought…you said it was an omega and so we…”

“I said I _thought_ it was an omega. I said I hadn’t seen it, but that’s what I thought I scented,” he hisses at Scott. “Why did you go out on your own, why did you take Stiles with just his bat as protection?”

Before Scott can reply, there’s a loud whooshing noise behind them and the wendigo screams as Isaac figures out how to use the flame thrower Peter gave him.

“Cut it down before the whole tree catches on fire,” Derek tells Isaac as he kneels by Stiles’ head. “Peter…it’s bad, you can see that. You can smell that he’s…”

Stiles coughs quietly with a small spray of blood. Peter moves the shredded pieces of his shirt to look at the deep gashes down his chest and stomach.

“He’s going to be okay, right? What can we do?” Erica asks, panic in her voice. She reaches out and touches a bit of bare skin on his side and instantly black veins shoot up her arms, making her whimper.

Boyd pulls her back and takes her place, opposite Peter who has a hand behind Stiles’ head, black running up his arm, too.

Scott runs his hand through his hair, looking from one pack member to the next. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and says, “We can get him to a hospital; they’ll be able to do something.”

Derek shakes his head, pulling Peter’s hand away and replacing it with his own. “He won’t make it that far; he’s already lost too much blood.”

“You need to turn him then, Scott, quickly before he dies,” Peter orders, shouldering Derek out of the way.

Scott shakes his head, looking at his best friend. “He doesn’t want the bite. He’s always said he wants to stay human.”

“You were going to do it when they thought he had that brain thing,” Erica says. “He wanted you to, he gave you permission.”

Scott scruffs his hand through his hair and paces next to his friend. “That was different, he was able to agree to it,” Scott answers. “It wasn’t supposed to be for any reason. And it could kill him.”

“This isn’t just any reason,” Peter snaps back at him. “This is Stiles bleeding to death in front of you because of _your_ stupidity. Now give him the bite before it’s too late. He _will_ die if you don’t.”

Scott looks at the group as though hoping someone will tell him what’s the right thing to do. Derek looks up and says, “If you’re going to do it, do it fast. His heart is…he’s going.”

Peter moves closer pulling Stiles to him, cradling his limp body in his arms. “Scott, please. Please, I can’t lose him, please do it, he can’t die. I can’t…”

The alpha nods and his eyes glow as he takes Stiles’ wrist and bites it. Stiles whimpers a little, but makes no other noise or movement, limp in Peter’s arms.

“Is it too late?” Isaac asks, joining the circle. “His heart is still beating, but it’s so slow.”

Peter scents through his hair and his face, muttering “Come on, my wolf, come on, you can do it.”

“He doesn’t seem to be getting any weaker,” Derek says. He has a hand on Stiles’ chest, still pulling out his pain. “His heart’s steady, just slow and still weak.”

“Come on, Stiles,” Peter croons. “Come back, you can’t go now. You can’t leave us; it’s not your time. You can’t leave your father, think of your father all alone, Stiles, you can’t do that to him.”

Stiles shudders and whines quietly. “I think his bleeding might be slowing,” Erica says, petting his leg and studying his chest.

“Maybe,” Boyd says, looking where she points. “Or maybe he’s just…out of blood?”

“He’s doing better, I know it,” Peter states. “Stiles, wake up, you need to wake up at least a bit. Please, for me.”

“Sleep,” Stiles mutters and the group around him all smile and take a breath. He’s not out of danger yet, but this is a promising sign.

Peter shuts his eyes and sighs, burying his face in Stiles’ neck. “Thank you. Thank you for not leaving,” he mutters.

“I think he might make it,” Scott says, smiling, looking amazed. He reaches out to Stiles and Peter shifts to his beta form and pulls him away.

“Mine,” he growls and flashes his eyes at Scott. He stands quickly, holding Stiles in his arms like his bride. “He’s mine.”

Scott flashes his red eyes back at him and says, “Peter, he needs his pack now. And like it or not, I’m his alpha.”

Stiles wakes up long enough to wrap his arm around Peter’s neck. He flashes his eyes at Peter before he buries his face in Peter’s chest, and murmurs, “Mine.”  
His blue eyes.

Peter turns, Stiles in his arms, and runs into the woods, away from the pack, without another word.

 

Isaac picks up Stiles’ bat and swings it. “Well, that went well.”

“He’s not dead at least,” Erica answers, looking down the path Peter took. “Tomorrow or the next day you’ll check on him?”

Scott slumps on the forest floor and rubs his hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah. And he’ll go to see his Dad; even Peter can’t keep Stiles away from him. I’ll call the sheriff tonight and let him know what happened and that Stiles is recovering.”

Isaac sits next to him and nudges Scott’s shoulder with his chin, gently scenting him as a gesture of support. “Just hope he doesn’t ask too many questions,” he says.

“You don’t think Peter would have … he couldn’t have planned this, could he?” Boyd asks, nudging the dead wendigo with his boot.

Scott’s head jerks up. “No!” he answers, fiercely. “No,” he says more quietly. “You saw how panicked he was, he wouldn’t put Stiles at risk like that. He couldn’t know that he’d show up in time or that I’d bite him or that it would take…”

Derek doesn’t say anything as he grabs a fallen branch and uses it like a broom to spread leaves and pine needles over the ground saturated in Stiles’ blood.

“We’ll take care of the body,” Boyd offers, nodding towards Erica. It’s no secret that Derek doesn’t like burnt anything and a burnt body has to be included in that. “We’ll bury it out here.”

Derek nods his thanks and turns to Scott. “We can go by Peter’s apartment and see if we can hear them in there. I assume Peter’d take him there. But I don’t think we should even try for more contact tonight.”

“You think Stiles will be okay? It seemed like he took the bite really well, was that weird?”

The older wolf shrugs and says, “Maybe because he was possessed by the fox spirit before? I don’t know, but he did seem to accept it quickly. Good, too, because he was closer to death than anyone I’ve seen getting the bite.”

“Well, I’ll check on him tomorrow. He’s not only my best friend, but now he’s my beta,” Scott says, looking around to make sure that everything is being cleaned up. Some branches of the tree are burnt, but otherwise things look normal.

Derek snorts and looks at Scott with a small smile. “Scott…you may have been the one to bite him, but Stiles isn’t going to be your beta. What Peter said is right -- Stiles is his. He’ll be in our orbit, and maybe our pack, but Peter’s his alpha now.”


	7. Bad Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s not actually that bad of a wolf, but he’s not the beta Peter hoped for. He’s obstinate and opinionated and stubborn. So he’s pretty much the same as he was when he was human.

As it turns out, Stiles makes a very bad werewolf.

At least that’s Peter’s opinion. He’s not actually that bad of a wolf, but he’s not the beta Peter hoped for. He’s obstinate and opinionated and stubborn. So he’s pretty much the same as he was when he was human.

Peter takes Stiles to his apartment to heal, letting him sleep, giving him water and juice when he wakes up and watching to be sure the slashes on his chest and stomach are healing.

He updates Derek by text a couple of times, just so that they’ll be left alone. Texts won’t due for Stiles’ father, so he answers his phone and lets the man rant for a bit before he assures him that Stiles is recovering. And yes, he’ll bring Stiles home as soon as he’s recovered. He doesn’t say how long Stiles will be there and as long as Andrew doesn’t ask, Peter doesn’t feel a need to offer details.

“I’m starving,” is the first thing Stiles says. Quickly followed by, “I stink. Oh my god, I smell awful and my clothes smell awful and our bed smells awful. How could you stand me the last few days?”

Peter tries not to react to Stiles saying ‘our bed’ and just answers, “I’m willing to make allowances for the near dead. If you think your legs will hold you up, why don’t you go take a shower and I’ll clean up the bedroom.”

Stiles cocks his head and looks at Peter carefully, sniffing the air. “Your smell changed. You had a smell and it got…nicer? sweeter? What was that?”

“I’m relieved you’re walking again. Shower?” Peter points to the bathroom.

“Sure. Um…then some food, maybe?” he says, yawning and walking out of the bedroom into the bath.

Peter quickly strips the bed and throws the sheets and Stiles’ clothes into the wash. He opens the window to air out the room and is just finishing remaking the bed when Stiles comes out, towel wrapped around his waist. “I feel better, but I’m still exhausted. I remember Scott recovered a lot faster than I am, do you think there’s a problem?”

“No, I think he wasn’t injured before he was bitten,” Peter replies, and he should know. “You need to remember, you almost died just a couple of days ago. Considering how close to death you were, you’re doing remarkably well. You’re strong and now you’ll only get stronger.” He guides Stiles into the newly cleaned bed and tucks him in, brushing damp hair off his forehead. “I’ll make you a sandwich, and then you can sleep a bit more. Next time you wake up, you’ll feel better.”

“Hmm,” Stiles replies, shutting his eyes and leaning into Peter’s touch. “If I doze off, wake me up to eat, please? Or else I might end up chewing off your arm.”

“Can’t have that happen,” Peter answers, and leaves to provide for his mate.

 

Stiles was bit a week before the full moon, so he has some time to recover physically and to prepare mentally for his first shift.

“I thought you would stay with Scott, because he’s the wolf that bit you?” Andrew asks the group in his living room. It’s only been a few months since he’s learned that all the things from creature-feature movies were true and now he’s trying to figure out how to help his son live through it.

Stiles shakes his head and pats Peter’s arm. “I could, but frankly, I think I stand a better chance with Peter and Derek. Born wolves, know what they’re doing, and all that. I feel safer there.”

Andrew doesn’t comment on how close Stiles is sitting to Peter; in the long run, that issue probably isn’t as important as his son turning into a blood thirsty killing machine in three days. “I could probably lock you in one of the cells at the station,” he says, scratching his chin. “Guarantee you won’t get out of there.”

“That might be a little too public,” Peter suggests. “And to answer your question, a beta would usually stay with his alpha, but because of the particular circumstances of Stiles’ bite, he has a bit more freedom to decide his loyalties.”

Derek nods, “He’ll be perfectly safe at Peter’s apartment. There’s a concrete support beam along one of the walls and we can chain Stiles to it. He’ll be safe and so will we.”

Andrew cringes and says, “Chain him to a concrete support beam? That’s really necessary?”

“Keeps me from killing people,” Stiles answers with a grin. “It’s just the one night and by the next full moon, I plan to be in control so I won’t need to be chained up.”

Peter and Derek exchange a look, not saying anything. One month to learn control is pretty ambitious, especially for someone like Stiles who isn’t exactly known for his control when he’s not a wolf.

“And you don’t mind taking care of him?” Andrew asks. “Even though he’s not related to you and there was all that getting you arrested and setting you on fire unpleasantness before?” Stiles smirks at this and pushes his face into Peter’s neck. It’s strange and a little uncomfortable seeing his son do this, but then again, when Stiles first came into the house, he tackled Andrew to the ground and rubbed his nose against Andrew’s neck, audibly sniffing him.

“Bygones,” Peter says, quirking up a corner of his mouth. “None of us were quite ourselves a couple of years ago. Thankfully we’ve all done a lot of healing. And now we can help Stiles through his change.”

“We take care of our own, Sheriff,” Derek says, glancing at Stiles and Peter.

Andrew sighs and looks at the trio. Derek looks glum, Stiles looks happy and Peter looks smug. “I guess you’ll tell me when he should be at your apartment and I’ll drive him over.

“Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of him,” Peter says, patting Stiles’ knee.

Andrew is pretty sure he hates Peter.

 

Scott’s also unhappy about the arrangement, but Stiles explains that it’s his decision and he trusts Peter to keep him safe and teach him control.

“Yeah, cause he’s the most under control guy around?” Scott says with an unexpected level of sarcasm. Must be from hanging around Stiles.

Stiles can only cock an eyebrow and shrug, because it’s a good point. “He has control when he wants it and he doesn’t shift unless he wants to. When he does his ‘watch the world burn’ stuff it’s because he wants to. Nothing to do with a lack of control.”

“Somehow I don’t find that comforting.” Scott looks around Peter’s apartment, checking the concrete pole that his friend will be chained to tomorrow night. He’s never been here; Derek’s the only other pack member who even knows where Peter lives. Stiles insisted that at least Scott should see Peter’s apartment to know that he’ll be okay. He says that he’s not Scott’s beta, but Scott’s still his best friend. It’s one of the many things that annoys Peter to no end.

“He’ll take care of me, Scott,” Stiles answers the question Scott won’t ask. “I trust him.”

 

Peter’s apartment building used to be a warehouse and unlike Derek’s loft, it was split into pretty normal individual apartments. Peter’s either lucky enough or smart enough he picked one that still has an original support beam. The night of the full moon, Peter’s looped a chain around his waist and secured it to the beam. Then both Derek and Peter sit and watch him.

They stand back as he tests the strength of the chain and the beam before the moon rises. “That should hold him, especially for his first shift.”

“Could you guys break through this?” Stiles asks, sitting against the post, trying to get comfortable.

“Probably,” Peter answers. “You’ll get stronger with age. But you’ll never be as strong as me.”

“Asshole,” Stiles states and settles back waiting for his first moon as a werewolf.

 

When Stiles shifts, he pulls on the chain trying to break away. The chain pulls some concrete chunks off the post, but both chain and post hold steady.

“You should leave,” Peter tells Derek.

Derek furrows his brow as usual. “Why? I can help; I can watch him when you need a break.”

“We’ll be fine, Derek, thank you. Besides, he kind of wants to kill you on a good day, so it’s probably not good for you to be here now.” Peter sits just out of reach, watching Stiles snarl and reach out a clawed hand at Derek.

“He wants to kill me? Really? Why?”

Peter just raises an eyebrow and waits until Derek mutters something snarky under his breath and leaves. “Just the two of us now, Stiles. Try to relax, it’ll be a long night.”

 

Peter wakes up when something nudges him in the thigh. He looks over at Stiles, who is awake and lying on his belly, chain pulled taut.

“You gave me a dog bone?” he asks, poking Peter’s leg again with the bone. “After all the bitching about not making dog jokes?”

“It’s not a dog bone,” Peter answers, stretching and moving to unchain Stiles. “It’s a cow’s femur. Sold for dogs to chew on, but not the bone of a dog. You’d probably chew through a dog in a minute.”

When Peter’s bent over to unlock the chain around his waist, Stiles pulls him down and Peter lands on him with a quiet grunt. “Still, not really funny. But we got through it, right? Next month I won’t need to be chained. Now get off me, I have to pee.”

Peter helps him up and swats his butt before he shoves him towards the bathroom. “You started it. And chewing the bone gives you something to occupy yourself and helps and with the pain from your new fangs. Go shower, breakfast in fifteen.”

“Occupy myself by chewing the bone,” Stiles says with a chuckle. “I’m with you there.”

 

“Dad, I’m fine, it really wasn’t as bad as I expected.” Stiles has his phone between his ear and shoulder, raking his fingers through his wet hair as he comes into Peter’s kitchen.

“No, no one was injured,” he confirms, reaching for plate that Peter’s filled with a huge amount of eggs, ham and toast. “Really, Dad, I promise.”

He sips some juice while nodding and then wipes the juice off his chin with a cloth napkin that Peter shoves at him. “Go to work, Dad, it’s fine. We’re just going to eat breakfast and go back to bed. Sleep, Dad! We’re going to go back to sleep!”

He rolls his eyes at the phone and shoves a piece of ham into his mouth. “I’ll stop by the station later today so you can give me the once over. But don’t worry, this is all going to be fine. Love you, too, bye.”

Peter pushes a cup of coffee towards Stiles and raises an eyebrow. “Daddy has issues with our napping together?”

“My dad hates you; he’s a good judge of character.”

Peter chuckles and puts more toast on Stiles’ plate, watching him slather it with jam. “So do you think you figured out an anchor yet? Hopefully one that will be more effective than Ms. Martin and pull you back sooner than 16 hours?”

“Maybe,” he says, around the mouthful of food that he quickly swallows. He drinks more coffee before he continues because Peter hates it when people talk with their mouths full. “So it can be a person or, I guess, a feeling or something?”

Peter sips his coffee, thinking for a minute before he replies. “Well, Derek kept his anger as an anchor for years and it served him well. I’m not sure what he uses now. Others use people, ones they trust to care about them. Or events. It’s very individual. And personal.” He waits to see if Stiles will ask what his anchor is.

“Yeah. Although I do kind of like what Scott’s said about being your own anchor. I like that idea -- depending on yourself.”

Peter studies him before answering, “While I think that’s possible – eventually -- it may be a little premature. You’re young and young as a wolf. Your anchor is the person or thing that tethers you to your humanity. The thing that can bring you back. It’s not something to take lightly.”

 

In the month after his first full moon, Stiles tries to learn as much as he can. Peter, Derek and the others give him a crash course in being a werewolf.

Luckily, there’s no new monster in town for once, and Stiles is spared Derek’s lessons in hand-to-hand combat. Peter spars with him, a bit more gently than Derek did with his betas and with a completely different ending.

“Dammit, Stiles, stop throwing stuff at me!” Isaac snaps, batting away another tennis ball.

“Ah! That’s your annoyed smell,” Stiles tells him. “It’s a little different than Boyd’s annoyed smell, but there’s something similar there….” He throws a ball at Boyd, who catches it and shreds it with one hand, flashing his teeth at Stiles.

Lydia looks up from her laptop and says, “Stiles, I’m happy that you’re learning all this before it’s needed, but right now, we need to study. Remember school? We need to pass our classes.”

“No lies detected,” he says, pointing at her. “And it’s interesting, both you and Peter have a semi-annoyed smell going on at all time. Derek’s and Peter’s smell are similar, I guess that’s a family thing?” He looks to Derek for an answer, but the older wolf, just shakes his head and pulls his book further up over his face.

 

When the second full moon approaches, the plan is to be with Peter again, chained to the concrete post.

“Peter, I swear I can handle it,” Stiles whines as it’s getting close to dusk. “I want to be outside, I want to run!”

“It’s too soon, my love, it’s dangerous. If you get out of control, I might have to hurt you,” Peter answers. He looks as miserable as Stiles, pulling the chain around the post and locking it firmly around Stiles’ waist.

“Maybe…maybe if we get a few hours in and I’m okay, we can go outside? I swear, Peter, I feel under control, but I just want to be outside.”

Peter doesn’t answer, but sits on the floor next to Stiles to wait.

 

It’s almost midnight and Stiles has shifted, but he’s still under control, head resting on Peter’s lap.

“Do you still want to go out?” Peter finally asks him, caressing Stiles’ shoulder. “You’ll need to stay close to me.”

“That’s never a problem,” Stiles says, and stretches, admiring his claws, careful that he doesn’t hurt Peter. “I’ll stay close. Is there someplace we can go, can we run in the reserve? Don’t you feel it, Peter, don’t you feel the pull? Don’t you want to go?”

Peter unlocks the chain around Stiles’ waist, letting it fall to the floor. “Yes, I feel it too. Come on, Stiles, let’s run.”

He leads him out to the roof and shows him how to jump from their roof to the one next door, run across there and then get to the ground using a nearby tree. From there, they stay away from the main road and get to the preserve. Stiles is anxious, but Peter’s been watching and he’s not out of control. Peter couldn’t be more proud.

“Is anyone else out, can you tell?” Stiles asks, sniffing the air. In the woods, there’s so much to smell, it’s almost overwhelming and he shuts his eyes to steady himself a minute. He didn’t know it could be like this.

Peter brushes the back of his hand down Stiles’ cheek. “Call them. Tell them where we are,” Peter commands. “Take a minute and then howl for the pack.”

Stiles nods and then lets out a howl. It’s a little timid, but from far away, he hears a howl back. He grins at Peter and whispers, “Who was that, do you know?”

Peter shrugs and says, “Do it again. Louder this time, this is our woods and our night. So howl, Stiles, howl like you mean it.”

This time, the return howls come from a couple of directions and before Stiles can finish smiling and track the calls, he’s knocked to the ground by Erica.

“Stiles, you’re out! I didn’t think you would be out so soon!” she crows, rolling him over and scenting his neck.

Boyd looks at them and then at Peter, raising an eyebrow, in a silent Boyd question.

“He’s good. He’s very good,” Peter answers him, watching Stiles and Erica wrestle.

Isaac runs up, followed by Scott, who pulls Stiles free and grabs him in a bear hug. “Dude! We didn’t recognize the voice for sure, but we thought it was you! Awesome howl!”

“I want to run, can we run now?” he asks the group, but mainly Peter.

He nods and shifts into his beta form and moves next to Stiles. “Let’s run, my wolf.”

 

“God, that was great, wasn’t it? It was like – oh god there – the best thing ever, or – umm, do that again – one of the best things ever.”

They came home about an hour before dawn and fell into bed without bother to shower. After sleeping for an hour, Peter wakes Stiles up with a nip to his thigh and another example of how strong they both are now that Stiles is a wolf.

“So good, today was perfect, you’re perfect,” Stiles mutters and thrusts his hips, ankles wrapped around Peter’s neck. “And fuck, I rock, too.”

Peter reaches around and grabs Stiles’ ankles, folding him in half with his feet touching the bedframe, not slowing his rhythm.

“Oh my god,” Stiles moans and lies back while Peter pounds into him. Peter comes hard with a snarl and his claws piercing Stiles’ thighs where he’s holding him down.

By the time Stiles recovers after his orgasm, Peter’s out of bed and in the shower. “Damn, I do not have that werewolf recovery yet,” Stiles says and makes his way into the bathroom. “Hey, want company?” he asks, opening the shower door.

Peter looks at him and says, “I’m done,” and moves past him towards the bedroom.

 

He finds Peter in the living room, looking out the window at the empty field behind the apartment. The huge window is of the reasons Peter chose this building and this apartment; the window faces east so he can watch the moon rise.

“So maybe you want to tell me what’s wrong? Because while that was some pretty terrific sex, I kind of think you were trying to tell me something.” Stiles wraps his arms around Peter, turning him and pulling him towards the couch. “Sit and talk with me. I know you had fun tonight with the pack, Peter. I saw you with pretty much everyone. I mean, I saw you with Derek, and you even bumped shoulders with Scott, which is pretty much the equivalent of tongue kissing for anyone else.”

Peter sits on the sofa where Stiles put him, studying the younger wolf. “Stiles, you talk about the pack or the Beacon Hills pack, but you never say _your_ pack. Who is in _your_ pack?”

“My pack?” Stiles asks, looking confused. He straddles Peter’s lap and when Peter doesn’t push him off, he leans forward and rubs his face against Peter’s neck. He smells of shampoo and soap and Stiles needs to replace it with his scent. Peter leans back and breathes in his scent and Stiles can feel him calm. “Well, you and me. And Derek, too. Because he’s family and he needs a pack and so…yeah, you, me and Derek.” He holds up two fingers on one hand and holds up his other hand with one finger up and shrugs.

“You’re going to college in the fall, aren’t you?” Peter asks, resting his forehead on Stiles’.

“Planning to. Hope to,” Stiles says and Peter notes a change in his scent.

“Something wrong? You’re worried?” he brushes his nose against Stiles’ ear.

“Not too bad, it’ll be okay. The nogitsune wasn’t as concerned with school work as he could have been. I have a few extra assignments, but I should be able to graduate on time,” Stiles answers, tilting his head back, hand around Peter’s neck. “Luckily, most of my teachers have a lot of sympathy for my unfortunate bout with ‘brain fever’ – whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

“And after college?” Peter asks, brushing his lips across Stiles’ throat.

Stiles looks at him through half-closed eyes, feeling the tension in the older wolf’s shoulders. “After? I thought I was going to come back here and become a deputy. Probably not here, it would be weird reporting to my dad, but nearby. Now, I don’t think that’s what I want.”

Peter shakes his head and sets him back on his lap and studies his beta. “So what do you want to do after college?”

“Here’s the thing,” Stiles says and sighs. “I had planned to be in law enforcement somehow and help people. Don’t laugh,” he says, pointing at Peter. “But lately I’m thinking that humans can do that, let them protect other humans. What I want to do – what I want us to do is to protect _our_ kind. I know we’re friends with Allison and Mr. Argent, at least sort of. But most hunters don’t follow their rules. So I think what I want is for us to be the ones who hunt those who hunt us.”

“That’s for us to do?” Peter asks. His hands are on Stiles’ hips, thumbs rubbing circles on his hipbones.

Stiles rocks into Peter’s hands, whispering, “That’s what I’d like. It’s what I think about, it’s…it’s my anchor now. Thinking about us and our future.”

“Us together is that your plan?” Peter asks, trying to keep his voice level.

“Yeah,” Stiles nods and then rests his head on Peter’s shoulder. “You and me protecting other wolves from hunters and stuff. We’d find out who needs us and go there. I think about us and I think…we’d be legends, Peter. We’re the wolves that hunters fear and tell each other about. ‘Be careful if you go there, that’s Peter and Stiles’ territory.’ We’d have our own chapter in a bestiary and hunter’s kids would tell stories about us around campfires, we’d be their boogie-man. And if there are werewolf kids that are scared or have nightmares, their parents will tell them, ‘Don’t worry, things’ll be okay. Peter and Stiles are out there protecting us with their baseball bat.’”

Peter smiles into Stiles’ hair and asks, “Peter and Stiles and his bat?”

Stiles kisses Peter’s neck, stretching the neck of his t-shirt. “Yeah, well, I’ll have to do something so I can pick it up. There’s this liquid rubber stuff you can dip things like hammers into, maybe something like that?”

“I was thinking you could drill a hole into the bat from end to end and put a steel rod into it for reinforcement,” Peter says, slipping Stiles’ shirt over his head.

“That won’t help me to hold it though,” Stiles answers, and pulls Peter’s shirt off. “I’d like to dip it in steel or something like that.”

“I think that would incinerate the wood,” Peter says, standing and letting Stiles wrap his legs around Peter’s waist. “Now with a thin sheet of metal, you could wrap it around the handle, solder it together.”

Stiles eyes glow and he scratches Peter’s scalp gently with his claws, kissing along his jaw. “Hmm, that’s an idea, have to think about that.”

“Is there still a metal shop in your school, we could break in some night and fix it.” Peter offers, carrying Stiles back towards the bedroom.

Stiles kicks off his pants and lies back on the bed, stretching his arms over his head. “Break into the high school, Peter? I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.”

Peter shucks his pants and crawls up the bed, kissing every inch of his mate along the way. “That’s how legends are created.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter for the story, just two little epilogues to go!


	8. Hunter Legends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue #1 
> 
> Dean meets his son at the top of the stairs and gives him a cocky grin. “My grandson wants a story? Good to know he’s not too old.”

It’s been a long day with lots of activities and Gabe’s tired and cranky. “Da-aad, I want a story,” he whines. “Can’t grandpa tell me one of his stories?”

John sighs and stands at the top of the stairs, calling down, “Dad? Can you come upstairs, Gabriel wants a story.”

Dean meets his son at the top of the stairs and gives him a cocky grin. “My grandson wants a story? Good to know he’s not too old.”

John slows him down, with a hand on his arm. “Okay, Dad, but make it G-rated, okay? It’s bedtime and he doesn’t need nightmares.”

“G-rated? I don’t know if I have any G-rated stories,” Dean grumbles, looking in at the boy waiting patiently in his bed.

“Well PG then if that’s the best you can do. Your version of Bloody Mary gave him nightmares for a week.” They enter the bedroom and John turns around and whispers, “And watch the language.”

Dean rolls his eyes and sits on the side of his grandson’s bed. “Want a story from your old grandpa, eh?  Okay, let me think of a good one for you…”

John sits at the bottom of his son’s bed and says, “Do you have any good stories with kids in them?  Good stories, Dad?”

“But a hunter story, Grandpa? I wanna hear a hunter story!” Gabriel whines, scooching down into his bed, grabbing his stuffed bear and getting comfortable.

“Sure, okay, give me a minute,” Dean says, thinking and scratching his chin. “Okay, got one. So there’s this hunter, right, and he has to go and find some werewolves who live together in this house and…”

“What was his name?” Gabe asks.

“Who?  The hunter’s name?  Um…Sam.  Sam the Hunter,” Dean answers with a shrug.

Gabe sits up and asks, “Sam -  like Uncle Sam?”

“Like Grandpa’s brother Sam, but not that Sam.  Right, Dad?” John says, with an eyebrow arched.

Dean smiles broadly. “No, not our Sam. He’s not a hunter, he teaches college, you know that.”

“He’s put in for retirement,” Castiel said quietly from the door, where he’s been quietly listening in.

“What?”

Cas enters the room and leans on the edge of Gabe’s dresser. “Dean, don’t you ever read your emails? Your brother is planning to retire. When it’s official, Elizabeth is throwing a party and we’re invited.”

“Well, that’ll depend on if I can get time off and…”

“You have vacation time, Dean, it’s your garage and you have an assistant. We will be going,” Cas states. “You should continue your story.”

John grins and says, “Thanks, Cas and great about Uncle Sam. Dad, you were saying?”

Dean snorts and says, “Okay, where was I? Stop interrupting. Umm, Sam the Hunter goes this house because it’s supposed to have a pack of dangerous, violent werewolves in it.  And when he gets there, he finds out that some other hunters have been there and they’ve already, um… arrested most of the werewolves and taken them to jail. To werewolf jail.” He stops and smiles proudly at John.  “So Sam is really careful and he walks really slowly through the house to be sure that there’s no more werewolves and all the hunters are gone.  Then he gets to a room at the top of the house and inside…are two more werewolves!”

Gabe gasps and whispers, “Then what?”

“The two werewolves turn and look at the hunter and they both snarl and show Sam all their long, sharp teeth, and sharp claws,” Dean says, using his fingers to demonstrate long fangs.  

“What were _their_ names?”

“What’s with you and names? Their names? Umm, the older one was named Peter and the younger one was called Stiles. They were wolves that all the hunters knew about, kind of famous for rescuing werewolves and being really mean and always escaping from hunters,” Dean says.

Gabe grips his bear a little tighter and asks, “How old were they?”

“Well, it’s hard to tell with werewolves because they live to be really old, like hundreds of years old,” Dean says, leaning forward like he’s telling secrets. “Peter, the older one looked about 40 – around the same age as your teacher, Mr. Branson. The younger one was maybe your dad’s age, around there. But like I said, it’s hard to tell with monsters.”

“What happened then,” John asks, drawn into the story, one he hasn’t heard before.

“The two wolves turn and then Peter says ‘I know you, you’re Sam the hunter, aren’t you. Were you the one who ki…arrested all these wolves?’”

“But he wasn’t!” Gabe exclaims. “He didn’t do anything wrong!”

“No, and he told them that and then he sees that Stiles is holding something to his chest – he has a baby wrapped up in a blanket,” Dean says, holding Gabriel’s eyes.

Gabe lets out a little gasp and John gives his father a hard side-eye.

“So Sam says ‘That baby – is it a werewolf’ and Peter answers ‘We don’t know, it’s too young’ and…”

“She’s too young,” Castiel interrupts.

Dean looks at him with an eyebrow raised. “What?”

“Peter said that _she’s_ too young. Not it - she.”

“Sure,” Dean agrees, nodding and shrugging. “He says that _she’s_ too young for them to know because you can’t always tell with babies. One way is you can make them shift and show their little baby fangs and claws. So anyway, Sam says ‘Give the baby here’ and he pulls out his knife and…”

“Dad?” John growls, looking back between his father and Gabe, who’s chewing on the bear’s ear, eyes huge.

“Werewolves heal very quickly, that’s one of their abilities,” Cas says. “So if you scratch one, even just a bit, a werewolf would heal within seconds.”

“Right,” Dean says, pointing at Cas, who’s now sitting on Gabe’s dresser. “Like that. So Sam pulls out this little nail clipper and it has a little tiny file on it – that’s the knife he was pulling out.  And he says to Stiles ‘Give me the baby and we’ll see if she’s human.’”

“What happened?” Gabe asks. “Did he give Sam the baby?  Did he cut her?”

“I’ll tell you,” Dean says. “Okay, so Sam steps towards the weres and then Stiles steps forward and just when it looks like he’s going to hand Sam the baby, he tosses the baby towards Peter. And Peter must have somehow known he was going to do that because he catches the baby without her even crying at all and then Sam sees that the baby was covering a strap across Stiles’ chest and suddenly Stiles reaches behind him and pulls out this big fu…flamethrower! And he pulls the trigger and aims it at Sam!”

Gabe’s mouth is open and his eyes are wide as saucers when he asks, “Then what, Grampa?”

“Divine intervention,” Cas says calmly. “Luckily, Sam had a guardian angel who was able to remove him from the room before he was hurt.”

“What happened to the baby?” Gabe asks his grandfather. “Did the werewolves keep her?”

“The baby? I…I don’t know, but there was a flamethrower, Gabe! It was shooting out fire like twenty feet or something!”

“It was about fifteen feet, which is still impressive,” Cas says. “And Peter and Stiles kept the baby, who was a werewolf, and they raised her. They named her Claudette.”

“Huh. Well whatdaya know. Anyway, Gabe, there’s your story. Now go to sleep,” Dean says, rising off the bed.

“Okay, thanks for the story, Grampa.” Gabe takes his grandfathers’ kisses on the forehead before they slip out of the room. Then his dad kisses him as well, tucking the quilt around his son and his son’s bear.

“I wish hunters were real, Dad. That’s what I’d be when I grow up,” Gabe whispers, sighing and falling asleep.

John sighs as well as he pulls the door shut. That’s not something he plans to tell his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in my head, Dean's bisexual and was married and had John (and he'd totally name his kid John) and then his wife divorced him because she didn't want a dead husband or her child without a father. And she also wondered a little bit about his friend in the trench coat who was always around.
> 
> Here, Dean and Cas are both in their late 60s, John's in his late 20s and Gabe (named after John's favorite uncle) is 8. 
> 
> And Cas is a human because those stories where he goes to visit Dean in a nursing home and everyone assumes he's Dean's son make me cry.


	9. Once Upon a Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Once upon a time, there was a couple who were very happily married. The mother was beautiful with long, black hair and sang lullabies to her children in Spanish,” he starts.

“Granddad, come on, we saved you the best seat.”

Eight year old Tyler pats the corner of the large sectional couch and waits for Derek to take his assigned place, Annabelle by his side. “What are we doing tonight,” he asks the group.

Richard takes a seat next to his older brother, smiles at his grandparents and says, “Well, you could tell us a story.”

“Oh, you don’t want a story tonight, do you?” Derek asks, grinning.

“They always wants stories, Dad,” Stephen calls from the kitchen, where he’s getting snacks.

Stephen’s wife, Hannah, comes out of the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn for her sons to share. She looks towards the door and says, “Oh, that sounds like Boyd and Erica’s car. I didn’t know they were coming over tonight.”

“I hope you don’t mind, Hannah, but they were saying they haven’t seen you guys for a while,” Derek says, reaching for a handful of popcorn.

She goes to the door, opening it and waiting for the new guests. “Don’t be silly, Dad, Saturday nights are made for friends.”

“Hey! Hope we’re not intruding, don’t care if we are!” Erica crows as they come into the house, wrapping Hannah into a bone crushing hug.

“Hi, guys, come on in,” Stephen says, and gets a firm, one armed hug from Boyd.

“We brought brownies, and they’re still warm,” Boyd says, handing the pan to Stephen as he reaches to hug Hannah.

She laughs and gets a gentler hug from Boyd. He steps back and looks at her and her stomach with a questioning look on his face.

“Yes,” she says and puts a finger to her lips, nodding towards her sons. “It’s still a secret.”

“Congrats,” Erica whispers and hugs her again, more gently this time. “Let’s eat some brownies, I’m starving!”

“Are they Stiles’ recipe?” she asks, turning towards the kitchen.

Erica snorts, “Of course, why mess with perfection?”

A few minutes later, everyone’s spread out on the couches with coffee or milk and a warm brownie.

“Okay, Dad, so how about that story?” Hannah says, cuddling in the middle with her two boys.

Derek looks up at the ceiling, takes a deep breath and asks, “Anything you’re in the mood for?”

“How about the zombies in the Sheriff’s office?” Erica suggests, wiggling into Boyd’s side.

Boyd shudders and shakes his head. “The witch who caused the snow storm?”

“The vampire kittens?” Stephen suggests with a shrug and Hannah gives a quick head shake.

Derek looks at his wife and she nods. “Alright, I think I have one for you. Everybody comfortable?” he says, as surveys the room, looking at his packmates all piled together on the couch, as they are most Saturdays.

“Once upon a time, there was a couple who were very happily married. The mother was beautiful with long, black hair and sang lullabies to her children in Spanish,” he starts.

Annabelle jumps in with, “And their father was handsome and strong and brave.” She smiles and kisses Derek, scratching at his scruff, graying at the temples.

“Gross, old people kissing,” Erica whispers to Boyd and makes a gagging noise, while Tyler and Richard both wrinkle their noses.

Boyd kisses her temple and whispers back, “We can’t say too much about old people, Erica.”

“Yeah, I remember someone calling me crying about getting an AARP card,” Derek says, raising an eyebrow at Erica, who pouts prettily. “As I was saying … the couple was very happy together and they had two handsome boys they named Stephen and Daniel.”

“Dad and Uncle Dan!” Richard exclaims.

Derek nods and says, “Um hm. Now we loved having our boys, and boys are great and lots of fun, but your grandmother missed having a little girl to take care of.”

Annabelle shrugs and says, “I wanted someone to dress up pretty. Besides your grandfather.”

“So we were happy and with our pack and the kids, but thought there was something missing. And then one day, your Uncle Peter and Uncle Stiles came back to town and they had with them a very beautiful little girl and told us her name is Hannah.” Derek smiles at her as she tilts her head to scent in her husband’s neck.

“Now you guys know some hunters. You know Scott’s wife, Allison who was raised as a hunter. Allison and their kids are the kind of hunters that protect people; they make sure people are safe and won’t get hurt. But all hunters aren’t like that.” He pauses as looks at Stephen and Hannah – this is something wolves need to tell their kids, especially as they’re getting old enough to have friends outside their pack. “There are some hunters who aren’t like that, who only want to hurt werewolves. It doesn’t matter that the werewolves are good people and do nothing to them or to anyone else, there are people who think that all werewolves should be killed.”

Tyler and Richard look up at their parents, who try to smile reassuringly at them, and pull them in closer. Erica puts an arm around Stephen and ruffles Richard’s hair.

“It turns out that Peter and Stiles had heard about a pack of wolves who were under attack by some of the bad hunters and they went to help them. By the time they got there, some of the wolves – some of the family had been killed. And some were missing, including Hannah’s parents. Peter and Stiles were able to find where they were held and they were able to rescue Hannah’s father,” he stops to check his family and wraps a hand around Tyler’s neck, calming him a little.

“Hannah’s mother was killed by the hunters,” Derek says quietly to the silent room. “But Peter and Stiles killed the hunters who took them and they brought her father home to his pack.”

He stops and for a couple of minutes everyone just hugs and comforts each other. When they’re better, when the tears are wiped away, he continues the story, one that his family needs to know. “Of course the pack was happy to be reunited and they were very grateful to Peter and Stiles. And after a lot of discussions within the pack, their alpha asked them if they knew of a pack that could take care of Hannah, at least for a while since their pack was injured and needed to heal. They wanted Hannah to have a family around her and not be scared. And happily, they said yes and brought Hannah to me and your grandmother.”

“Were you happy there, Mama? You were with Daddy then, right?” Richard asks, clinging to her arm.

Stephen cuddles him a little, and says, “I was happy from the minute she walked in. Probably not like I was supposed to be. She wasn’t in the house for a few minutes and I instantly knew that I was going to marry her and raise my family with her.”

“It’s so Twilight,” Erica whispers to Boyd.

“What’s Twilight?” Hannah asks and Erica sighs loudly, muttering, “Never mind.”

Annabelle squeezes Hannah’s hand and says, “Your Uncle Dan immediately took to her and treated her like a little sister. He took her to the playground and showed her around and made sure that all the pack kids were nice to her.”

Boyd grins at her and reaches a huge hand over to Hannah. “Alicia was just a baby then, but I remember when we first met Hannah. You were very careful picking her up. She trusted you immediately.”

Erica cuddles under Boyd’s arm. “Well, we all had to be nice; Dan was playing big brother, Derek was overprotective dad and Stephen was…”

“Lovestruck,” Derek answers, trying unsuccessfully not to grin at his eldest son. “We realized pretty quickly that they were destined to be mates and tried to treat everything normally and let Hannah be a little girl. To make sure she had a good childhood.”

“It was okay – at least until Stephen turned fourteen or so and Hannah was around ten. By then, she felt it, too. And neither of them knew what to do,” Annabelle says, clearly enjoying this part of their family’s story.

“When Hannah was sixteen, she went back to her original pack for a couple of years, just to finish high school,” Derek says. “It was … challenging.”

“I was in college then, and of course I thought I knew everything,” Stephen tells his kids. “Mom and Dad wanted me to finish college and of course let your mom finish school.”

“We went from my high school graduation ceremony directly to city hall to get married,” Hannah says, laughing as she pulls Richard onto her lap, kissing his head. “Your grandparents were so mad!”

“It’s not like we didn’t know there’d be a wedding, we just thought we could actually be involved in it,” Annabelle says, sounding slightly resigned. This isn’t the first time they’ve had this discussion.

“Anyway, that’s the story of how your mother came into our family,” Derek says, and grabs Stephen to pull him into his lap, nuzzling into his neck while Stephen laughs and tries to get away. Soon everyone’s piled on each other on the couch, just enjoying the closeness of their family and pack.

“Will Peter and Stiles come and visit soon? We haven’t seen them since Christmas,” Richard says, back on his mother’s lap.

She smiles at her pack and glances down at her still-flat stomach. “I think they’ll come visit later this year.”

“Can we train with them?” Tyler asks. “We’re old enough; we could learn to hunt the hunters, too.”

Stephen is the boys’ father, but Derek is their alpha. Derek looks carefully at Tyler and says, “Yeah, I think we could do that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, thanks for all who read this and commented and left kudos. 
> 
> Derek is around 60, his wife is Annabelle is in her 50s.  
> Their son is Stephen age 28, married to Hannah 24. Children Tyler 8 and Richard 5. Other son is Daniel age 26.
> 
> Erica and Boyd are both 55. Their daughter is Alicia and she has children.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 starts out kind of shippy undertones and then goes into full blown Peter/Stiles!
> 
> Comes say hi on [Tumblr](http://rebakitt3n.tumblr.com/)


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